


At Your Command

by chrystening



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Actually?, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Oral Sex, a long time coming...., another gay story, i wanted it to be just smut but of course..., more feels than you'd expect, this is a continuation of questions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-05-07 00:41:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14659635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrystening/pseuds/chrystening
Summary: Jon is Lord Commander now, and it’s great news… until he asks you to be his new personal steward.Jon Snow / Male Reader.





	1. 01.

**Author's Note:**

> yikes remember months ago i said part two was coming?
> 
> a continuation of questions!!
> 
> Lolololol This is my favorite personality I’ve written for a reader…  
> If I had to give the reader a house it’d be Lannister hahaha

You grit your teeth in Jon’s new quarters.

It was hard enough, being one of the Night’s Watch. The days were boring, cold, and long; there was little reward for the work; and you had only Sam, Jon, and Jon’s small circle of friends to talk to.

It was _especially_ hard, being one of the Night’s Watch, who was also openly (or at least, rumored to be) interested in other men. You received either looks of disgust or looks of intrigue. Nobody dared to approach you out of fear. Though not out of fear of you, but fear of _him._

But you drew the line at becoming the personal steward for—

 _“Lord Commander Snow_ ,” you said icily. He looked up from the work that he was pretending to do under your gaze. He sat there, handsome in his dark black furs and leather. Jon looked as regal as possible. He wore no gold or silver, nor proud sigil emblazoned on his chest, but the dark black looked noble on him. You too were in a cloak, his gift to you that was not unlike his own wardrobe. The fur collar brushed against your skin, a constant reminder of him. He looked up at you with wariness, meeting your eyes only because he was too proud to show weakness. After all, he was Lord Commander now.

When you had first heard of Jon being promoted, you were, above all, proud. From what you heard, he came to the Wall with little title besides The Bastard of Winterfell. Time and time again, Jon had proved himself against the odds, showing you his, albeit reluctant, leadership and unbreakable honor, along with his kindness.

Second, you thought it was pretty sexy, him being in actual authoritative control over you.

But being his glorified handmaiden? You wouldn’t stand for it.

He sighed as you leveled a cold glare on him.

“I’m already a ranger.”

“It’s just a suggestion.”

You scoffed, laughing. “The answer is no,” you said, pacing to the other side of the room. It held many candles for late night work, sitting in their tin dishes, in puddles of wax. You heard Jon’s chair groan, relieved of his weight. You heard him shut the only window in the room, ushering in the dark. He made his way over to you, and with each step you felt your heart thump in your chest. He wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling you close.

“I only want you to be near,” he breathed in your neck.  His lips were so close, so light, that you couldn’t tell whether the soft tickle against your skin was him or the furs nuzzled around your neck.

“I will _always_ be near,” you responded, voice warm with feeling. You then shifted as not to lean on Jon’s welcoming chest, not trying to fall victim to his charms. “Give the position to that kid—Olly, was it?” The boy idolized Jon.

Jon pressed himself closer, and you could feel his hardness into your rear. Though normally a very attractive gesture, you scoffed.

You put distance between you and your lover, looking around the large room. “I can see why you want me to be your servant. You live like a real king here,” you noted. The statement was beyond exaggeration. Jon’s room was of the same practicality as the rest of Castle Black, lacking any luxury of a lord’s dwelling. But it was less austere than other locations at the Wall with its gently glowing candles. Not to mention, Jon had it all to himself.

You turned towards Jon. “I can’t be your personal steward.” Your tongue fidgeted in its place, trying to find the words quick enough. “The men will start to… assume things,” you said, hoping he missed any underlying fear.

“Things they’re _right_ about,” he reasoned in that sweet Northern accent that drove you crazy. “Ever since I got elected, you’ve spent time in here a lot anyway.” He gestured with his hands, trying to persuade you. He grinned. “At least so you’ll appear to have good reason to visit me at late hour, you may as well be my personal steward.” He looked to you for agreement but found an unamused look instead. He was about to place a suggestive hand on your waist when you backed out of his reach.

Hurt flashed across your face, taking him aback as much as it did yourself. Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. Was this all this was? Jon looked at you in confusion, then apologetically as he knew you were hurt, but it was clear he didn't know what for. You glowered, watching him reach for you.

"I—" he began.

You skirted out of the room wordlessly, without excusing yourself to your new Lord Commander.

Lord Snow would just have to forgive you for that.

-

You huffed, frustrated, watching Sam busily put books into their proper places.

He waddled back and forth from the cart to the shelves in Castle Black’s sparsely-used library. You sat on the edge of a table.

“I _like_ being a ranger. Fuck being a steward.” You looked at your friend, who may or may have not been paying attention. “Not that there’s anything wrong with them.” Truly, stewards were cool. But… Your breath hitched. You wanted to be strong. And being a ranger—even if you weren’t able to do much without a bow and arrow… being a ranger made you feel invincible.

Words couldn’t hurt you beyond the wall. Not when you were on mission, not when you were scouting, and not when you were killing.

“Being a ranger is just… cooler to me,” you settled.

“I don’t know how to make him see reason, Sam,” you confided.

Sam didn’t even pause in his work as you spoke, and you watched with belated amusement his toddling to and fro.

“Well, he’s not completely unreasonable here. It’s a good way to remain close to you as he takes on other duties of Castle Black. Duties that would take up all his time.”

“He _is_ being unreasonable! I am a _ranger_ ,” you growled. You crossed your arms. “It’s because he doesn’t see me as strong … As an equal.” True, you were a good bowman, but no great warrior. You looked out the window with cool detachment, watching snow float down from the sky. Goddamn it.

You were in love with him.

At the revelation, you deflated.

Your woe soon transitioned into bitterness, your features hardening with contempt. “Or worse, he seems me as a way to pass time since... Since…” You _burned_ at the thought of that dead wildling girl he had once left you for.

Sam did turn to you, in the middle of placing scrolls into his cart. He frowned, clear empathy present in his face.

“Oh, listen…” You shook your head, intent on _not_ listening and throwing a pity party. “Jon holds you in very high esteem. I’m sure he thinks you’re the strongest person he’s ever met!” It was clear from the look you gave that you didn’t believe him. Sam, seeing his efforts failing, went another route.

“Well then,” he started. “Perhaps you can do some sort of trade?”

“A trade?” You hopped off the reading table you lounged on, approaching Sam’s waddling figure.

“Yes, well, a trade happens when people give things to people in order to get things,” he dutifully elaborated, looking at the spines of books.

You blushed. “Yes, I know what a trade _is_ , Samwell,” you huffed. “I mean, what sort of trade? What should I offer Jon?”

“That’s entirely between you two.” He finally turned his attention to you, an earnest expression on his face. “Think about it. What do you have that Jon values? What does he desire enough to let you remain a ranger?” You instantly connect dots in your head, gears turning while Sam began listing out the possibilities on his fingers. “It could be a sword, or a good cloak—“

“Or something else entirely,” you grinned darkly. Sam nodded, oblivious to the heated promise in your tone, before returning to his work.

“I’ll see you, Sam!” You bid him your goodbye and almost skipped out the library, focused on attaining your freedom.

-

You burst into Jon’s room, shutting and locking the door behind you. You caught him in the middle of signing some papers. _Wow, so he really does do work_ , you thought.

“You can’t just enter like that,” he spoke, though with the countenance that said he wasn’t going to stop you. You made a dismissive wave with your hand as you strode towards him, grinning.

“So, I’m not going to become your steward,” you gladly said.

His face transitioned from curiosity to dissatisfaction. He looked at you, sighing.

“You do realize I could just command you to be my steward,” he said, eyes following your advancing figure with interest. You knew he was wondering what had gotten you in such high spirits.

You hiked yourself onto his worktable, shoving papers out of the way and onto the floor. You swerved your body, swinging one of your legs over Jon expertly.

“I’m not going to be your steward because you don’t _want_ me to be your steward,” you whispered, leaning forward until you were eye to eye.

Jon narrowed his eyes, distrusting of this conversation and where it was leading.

“If you make me your steward, Jon, I am keeping our relationship strictly _professional_ ,” you said lowly.

He coughed, trying to retain dignity. “… Of course—“

“All the time,” you cut in. He bristled.

“Everywhere.” You saw him swallow drily.

“Around everyone. And around no one.”

Jon’s brows furrowed, before his face settled into realization.

“That’s—“

“—Without saying, what should occur between a steward and his lord,” you finished coyly for him.

You both stared at the other, not backing down. You raised your eyebrows when Jon stood slowly, the desk creaking under the weight of his hands as he went to lean over you. You allowed him to kiss you.

The kiss grew less chaste with the second, heated and needy. You retreated before he could manage to urge your tongue out from between your lips.

Jon was annoyed at your withdrawal, focused on little else than continuing what he started. His glare was weak, lukewarm at best.

He began weakly, “Could we—“

“Don’t _ask_ me for anything, Jon,” you interrupted, voice low. “Tell me. Order me.” He breathed heavily.

“You’re _Lord Commander_ , Jon.” He swallowed thickly, looking at your lips, your unmarked neck, your fingers that tapped rhythmically. “Isn’t there _anything_ you want me to do?”

Jon’s mouth opened wordlessly, as he pressed you down. You relaxed lower onto the table, spreading your limbs and curling fingers in his hair. It was all going according to plan—Jon was his most malleable in the afterglow of his climax. It was then you would negotiate.

You two were about to meet lips again, when a knock resounded on the door.

You were up and away from Jon in an instant, cloak billowing behind you like a flag as you bounded off his table. You stood at an appropriate distance. Jon was left in the wind, his body still arched over the spot where you had lain. He coughed into his fist, swallowing drily, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He collected himself, looking less than cognitive.

“Come in,” he said, a line rehearsed.

The intruder did so, turning the knob and crossing the threshold. You hoped the atmosphere wasn’t noticeable as Jon awkwardly reached for his fallen papers. You didn’t look at the man who had entered, instead keeping your gaze respectfully low.

“Jon,” you heard.

You turned and saw it was Ed.

Ed turned to you in wary greeting. He looked back at Jon, who picked up his papers one by one. It didn’t take him a second to draw conclusions as to what was happening, or about to happen. Ed looked embarrassed, knowing what he had walked in on, even without any true evidence. Only he, Sam, and _very_ few others would’ve known.

He coughed. _A man’s way of addressing an awkward situation_ , you noticed. You rolled your eyes, the smallest of grins allowed onto your neutral pretense.

“Ed?” Jon finally said, looking up as if he were a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar. There was a small inclination in his gray eyes to not address the situation. Ed looked as if he clearly wasn’t.

He folded his arms, shifting his weight and becoming serious.

“They’re calling for rangers.”

Being a ranger, at least for the moment, there was nothing Jon could say to stop you. You had smirked and walked out of his quarters, knowing you had left him wanting of you. _Hope he remembers that_ , you thought _, so he’ll drop this steward nonsense when I get back._

Making your way out to the courtyard, you and Ed were silent. However, you were quiet because you had nothing to say. He was quiet only because he was trying to appear unbothered. You decided to give him a small mercy and break the ice.

“Thank you,” you said, thoughtfully.

He bristled, looking at you strangely before looking away.

“For not making it obvious,” you supplied.

He still was pretending, but you knew better. And you weren’t one to leave things unsaid, usually.

“Thank you for not making it obvious you knew that’s where I’d be,” you huffed.

Ed nodded to you stiffly. Perhaps his features had softened, just a little. You snickered, before you both stood at the back of the crowd of rangers that had gathered. At the forefront was one man. You looked around, seeing the grave, sullen faces of your peers. You were glad that your arrival was quiet, unknown to those except for the particularly tall boys you stood directly behind.Your quiet arrival did you no favors though.

Ser Allister, the new First Ranger, sneered your name.

The tall rangers you stood behind turned to look at you with an eerie lethargy. They stood aside, making a small clearance for you. As one mass, all the rangers followed suit, silence in the air besides the crush of snow underfoot as they parted for you. You felt small, nearly petrified under the stares of your ‘Brothers.’ Seeing Ed’s pity from the corner of your sight, you refused to show any weakness—you _refused_. You batted away any vulnerability from your eyes as you took your steps forward. You met Ser Allister’s gaze, full of contempt for you.

You heard someone whisper a cruel word, a word they only called men like you, and a round of snickers followed it. Your eyes only hardened, growing vindictive and sharp. Your lips curled, unsettling those nearest to you. One moved out the way, though reluctantly, and with a nasty look. You imagined the snow under your feet to be their bodies, and the thought empowered you long enough to meet Ser Allister head on. You stood before him, shorter but resilient.

“You’re with me,” he spat.


	2. 02.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAYBE READ CHAPTER 1 AGAIN I CHANGED THINGS???

The next time you would see Castle Black would be a week later. Your body was on autopilot as far as you were concerned. It seemed that the gates passed over you, rather than you passing under them. You took in the drab scenery, eyes empty. You should’ve felt relieved, even to see this sorry place again, but there was nothing _left_ to feel but fatigue.

The group that you had gone out with had been nearly wiped out, culled by wildings. To call it a slaughter would’ve been polite, euphemistic.

You looked up blankly, numb. Besides perhaps yourself, Ser Allister was the only one who still had his wits about him. He was definitely the only one who looked it. At least you weren’t as petrified as some of the rangers behind you, whose cries you fell asleep to during your capture.

You shook your head. Never mind it. There was no point reliving the past, you assured yourself. You felt your mind lock the memories away, repressing the trauma to a dull roar in your head. You were in the Night’s Watch—you needed to be strong. Be strong, like Jon.

 _Wildlings are disgusting_ , you thought. _And that’s all there is to it._

Men ran around you, ushering you all into shelter like shepherds and fetching food and water for the starving. The men at Castle Black drew fires for you all in the great hall. Even so, you couldn’t shake the chill. The cold beyond the Wall was ruthless, and you didn’t believe it would ever leave you.

Despite all the faces you saw rushing to care for you, to your utter disappointment, Jon wasn’t one of them. His was the only face you wanted to see.

Light returned to your eyes at the thought of your lover. You wanted to see his hair again, his eyes, his scruffy jaw, his lips.

Jon, Jon, Jon, Jon _. I want to see Jon._

But you knew it wasn’t the right time. You ducked your head deeper into the neck of your furs, mind possessed with images of his figure.

That night, you rapped your knuckles on the door rhythmically—your secret knock.

You looked at your hand distantly. It was a wonder you had even returned to knock on his door. It was a wonder you were alive at all.

You heard heavy, quickened steps beyond the door, which then bounded open. Your eyes had fallen to the floor, but you drew them up to meet his eyes in an instant, desperate to look upon his face again. They took you in, wide, scared, and gray. You smiled weakly, though gratefully, thanking all the gods that you managed to get to see them once more. His face was one of pure shock, then earth-shattering relief.

You tightened your grip on the cloak around you, shuddering at the chill that crept to you. Jon saw your tremble and pulled you into his bedchambers by the hand, closing his door and locking it as soon as you were in. You were comforted by the gentle glow of his candles. They stood much shorter than you remember, their wicks blackened with use.

 _Late nights working_ , you supposed.

_Or worrying._

Jon crushed you into his arms. For the first time in days, you felt truly warm. Your worries, insecurities, and fears flooded out of you as your body went slack in his embrace. You allowed yourself to shake, wrought with sobs. It was disgraceful, but you didn’t care. In the Night’s Watch, showing vulnerability was death. But with Jon…

You couldn’t bear being without him tonight.

“Can I… Could I stay tonight?” you said in a choked whisper, tongue thick and heavy.

“Yes,” he spoke rabidly into your skin. “Stay. _Stay_.”

Soon, it’d been two weeks since you had slipped away to Jon’s that night, and you had shared a bed with him every night since. Despite your wishes, and some advances, all your nights together were chaste. Of course, Jon, being the gentleman he was, urged you to fully recover before attempting anything.

As for your worries for anyone noticing, they quickly dissipated. Usually you were conscious not to linger in Jon’s room too often, but to hell what your cabin mates thought of your absence; if you weren’t in Jon’s arms, you couldn’t catch a wink of sleep otherwise.

But this night, you were his opponent.

You both were in his room, perhaps an hour or two from retiring to bed but still dressed from the day’s work. Jon had called for you under the guise of official business, sitting at his desk. You were thrown back weeks ago, the day you left, and suddenly you knew what this was about.

You stared at Jon.

Jon stared at you.

Neither of you had the intention of backing down.

He sighed. You saw on his face etched lines from stress, shadowy from the glow of the surrounding candlelight. You hated to see him like that, and you wished to ease away his troubles, but this was one battle you couldn’t afford to lose. If it were him… Jon wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Be my steward,” he said. He then laced the fingers of his steeped hands and rested his forehead on them, exhausted. _“Please.”_

You heaved a large breath, your arms folded. You looked down, before raising your gaze once again.

“I’m sorry, Jon.” You were, truly. “No.”

“No,” he repeated. His gaze was hard and cold as steel. But you knew it wasn’t you he was looking at that way. Not truly. You stood before him, but with his rigid posture and dark feathery cloak, Jon seemed so much bigger than you.

“No,” you said again, voice soft but resolute. You recalled the fear and self-loathing you had felt under the eyes of the Night’s Watch, your person at their mercy to scrutinize. You couldn’t stop them from looking or judging, but you wanted to stop yourself from ever feeling that way, ever again. “I want to be strong,” you realized aloud.

Jon’s brows furrowed. “You are strong.” You frowned, not believing him. “And either way, you don’t _have to be strong_ —“

“Well, I _want_ to be,” you quickly interjected, stepping closer, blocked from him by the desk. You pleaded with your eyes to him, to make him see.

He didn’t back down, but was tired. “Why won’t you just listen to me? Why don’t you _ever_ listen to me?”

You snorted. “Because you’re always wrong.” He looked at you with an expression completely void of humor.

Your face soured, and you muttered lowly, “… Maybe because you don’t think of me as an equal…”

You had thought he hadn’t heard, but the incredulous look in his eye told you otherwise.

His voice wasn’t angered, but critical, as he said in disbelief, _“I don’t think of you as an equal?”_

You willed yourself to stay still, despite nearly wincing at his tone. Jon may have sounded harsh, but you could see the actual incredulity in his countenance. However, your frustration began to win over your melancholy, and you couldn’t keep your cool.

“If you did, you wouldn’t try to make me a steward!” You threw your hands in the air. “At least not _your_ steward, steward to the Lord Commander—a job you _hated,_ by the way.”

He was silent, any anger dissipating and fatigue taking its place. Your heart ached seeing his entire being sag, as if under some invisible weight. The lines under his eyes, between his brows, the pull downward of the corners of his lips—you hadn’t seen him so aged. The animosity from his enemies, even those supposed to be his friends, having to lead hundreds of men, almost losing you—

You realized it was hard on him, too.

“I just want you safe.”

He was scared.

 _Everyone fears_ , your mind echoed. Even men like Jon. Maybe especially men like Jon, too kind and caring, just and righteous, loving and patient, brooding and cold—

You were silent, looking at your feet. You didn’t know what to say, nor have to will to. When you summoned the courage, your voice shook.

 “When you left—“ You stared fearfully at Jon, whose head rose. Guilt grew in his eyes, vulnerable before souring to bitterness. You were sorry to rip open an old wound, to keep that dead girl’s ghost alive. But she haunted you as much as it haunted him. You glared.

“I’m not like her,” you said, your words cutting like ice. Jon turned away from your eyes, his jaw tightening. “Strong. Wild.” You couldn’t keep your voice from cracking. “Or—”

“You are all of those things,” Jon said, voice hard. Your heart felt ounces lighter. “And yes, I loved her.” Then your mind spiraled, flooding with despair and anger. When you thought you were lost to the anguish, he reeled you back in. “But that shouldn’t matter.” He stood and crossed around the desk to be by your side in an instant. “Now, I love you.” His words were a balm to the wound, but just barely.

“I…” you looked between you both, then looked away. “People _say_ things.”

“ _Who_ says _what_ things?” Jon asked darkly. You grinned humorlessly, shaking your head.

“Never mind them. I just… I want to be stronger to not care who says what—“ You looked in the eyes, desperate. “And being a ranger is the only time I feel that way—like I don’t have to care about _anything!_ Just… a mission,” your voice fell. Jon looked so sad, but also as if he wanted to retort.

“… And I love you,” you said to him, interrupting him before he could. You struggled to take his hand in yours. You weakly squeezed it, cool leather beneath your skin. “I love you enough not to ask something of you that would make you unhappy.” His jaw tightened. “So do the same for me.”

At his reluctant sigh, shoulders relaxing at your words, you knew you had won. He bowed his head, and you saw the defeat color his eyes. It was your victory. But you were never one to be a sore winner. You were chest to chest with him, fingers curling around his.

You pressed your lips on his. He didn’t react, and you didn’t expect him to. Not yet at least. His eyes closed, and he just let himself breathe.

You lingered there for a good while, eyes fluttering shut and breathing steady. You didn’t move your lips much, allowing him to just know you were there. You longed for Jon to reciprocate, but he was as still as a rock. _Stubborn_ , you thought. It gave you the slightest grin. Throw his quiet tantrum he could, but he was still allowing the kiss. Still, you were anxious for him.

Finally, he returned the affection, on what could be called his own terms. You squeezed his hands.

_I’m sorry._

_It’s fine._

_I love you._

All were quiet and wordless, yet still heard between the both of you.

Jon drew a hand up to your cheek, bringing you closer with the barest touch. You hummed as the kiss grew more fevered, from doting to greedy. Jon put his hands on your shoulders, a weight you welcomed. His fingers began to dig into your skin, and you liked the burn they left.

Your mouth was coaxed open finally, your tongue meeting another. The sudden sensation drove shivers down your spine, and you openly moaned.

At the sound, Jon released your lips with a _pop,_ panting. He looked desperate, pink beginning to tinge his cheeks.

“I… I’m sorry—“

“I know,” you breathed. You kissed him again, hands frisking his chest until you found the fastenings. As much as would love to hear him apologize, you wanted him too badly. You loosened them, his cloak falling to the ground with a rustle and clatter. Next, it was his leather breastplate. Then, the thin linen shirt he wore under it. He kicked off his boots, attacking your naked neck. That was when you realized you were as undressed as him, black and gray pooling around your ankles like ash. You sighed into the air, more than content with the familiar feeling of desiring and being desired. You wanted him and he wanted you.

“Jon,” you choked.

He hummed your name into your skin, and you trembled.

You shuffled backwards, and Jon followed. You led him to the part of his quarters where you both had slept for weeks—his bed. You landed on it, him landing on you. Jon knelt over you, hands on either side of your hand. You burrowed your head into his wrist, his fingers tickling your ears.

Jon found his way from your neck, to the ridge of your collarbone, to your budding nipple. You bit your lip. He suckled obscenely, lewd noises curling your toes. You writhed around, but Jon had his hands gripped on your ribs so there was no escape. His eyes were closed and his brow was furrowed in focus, and you warmed at the sight. His mouth moved across your torso, running over your ribs, effectively drawing laughter from your throat and into the air.

There was a lull, the both of you drawing quiet breath. You looked down to your pants, wondering why the hell you and Jon still had yours on. You slid thumbs beneath your waistband and wriggled your way out pathetically. Jon aided you halfway, pulling them from your legs effortlessly. He still had his on, however.

You let out a whistled sigh at being unburdened of your clothing, your lower half rising to attention. The head hit Jon’s belly, smearing pre cum against a trail of hair.

Jon grasped it, stroking experimentally, seeing in which ways he could elicit the best reaction. You indulged him, not biting back any noises, no matter how embarrassed you were. Neither of you had broken eye contact, and Jon was clearly satisfied observing your pleasured faces. He gave a particularly flippant stroke to you, and your body flooded with desire.

“Quit playing around,” you moaned.

“I don’t,” Jon said, a small smile on him. He lifted himself off you and you made to protest, until he knelt by the edge of the bed. He was eye to eye with your length. “Not with you.”

Your cheeks warmed. Was he…?

Jon stared hard at your length, swallowing nervously.

Oh, he _was_.

Pleasing you like this wasn’t his favorite—in fact, you felt Jon rather disliked it. Of course, he’d never tell you, since it obviously pleasured you. But you knew by the cringe of his face when you flooded his mouth, and by the struggling gasps as he sucked. Therefore, you never asked him to do it, and he never offered. But he was now, and like seven hells you were going to let the opportunity go by.

You sat up. Your hand found its way into his hair, loose and wild. It combed through the locks before clutching tight, as if around a rein. You wriggled your hips, grinning at his sudden meekness. This uncertainty—it was just like his first time again.

“It’s okay, Jon,” you teasingly sang, trying to bring some levity. “You can do it.”

Jon glared up at you with minimal heat.

He gripped it, earning a surprised mewl from you. He looked sheepish and softened his hold, though you didn’t particularly dislike it. You smirked seeing Jon so meek, as opposed to the domineering streak he had taken as of late.

An idea blossomed in your head. “Actually,” you mused. “Jon, turn around.” He looked unsettled and suspicious of you. After some nervous shifting on the bed, he did so, if not warily. You were face-to-face with his ass.

You hooked your fingers in the waist of his trousers, and pulled them down at an excruciatingly slow rate. From his trembling, you could tell he was clenching his teeth, cursing you in his head. When his pants were finally all off, revealing him bare to you, you snickered audibly, earning a growl.

“Why are you so nervous?” you spoke, as the fabric of his pants bunched at his knees.

His head turned to you, but his face was blocked by the bushiness of hair. You presumed Jon looked indignant from the noise he made.

“I’m— _not!”_ His voice pitched to a comical degree as you began licking. He grunted, fists tightening. You dipped your tongue, lashing it around inside for fun. He was shuddering, and you grinned when you noticed him subconsciously meeting your tongue. You were less concerned with your technique and more with drawing more noises from his lips. Jon wasn’t making it easy for you, though. _Him and his pride_ , you thought fondly as you made a particularly wicked, deep stroke.

You withdrew your mouth, to the shudder of Jon. You grinned, lips slick and wet as you admired your handiwork.

“Jon?” you tried, hoping he wasn’t too mad—

You yelped, Jon’s mouth on your length making your toes curl.

The noises alone were enough to make your face flame, but the sensation was nearly sensory overload. Jon was no professional, but he was sloppy and earnest in ways you liked. Considering this didn’t happen often, your lower half was reacting spectacularly with feeling. You felt constantly tipping over when Jon went down on you furiously, and ready to spill when Jon’s longer sucks threatened to draw it out of you.

You threw your head back, gripping at the sheets. You clenched your jaw. _Any more and a vein will pop,_ your mind managed to cry, despite being dizzy with feeling.

You wanted you see your semen on Jon’s tongue, and a blowjob would’ve been a pleasant way to go, but it couldn’t quite beat your favorite way to finish.

“Jon, no more— _I’m going to_ —“ you cried, forearm thrown languidly over your forehead. Hearing the pitch in your whimpers, Jon released you, though not with a kiss goodbye. You could finally breathe, even if it hitched with Jon’s suckling of your head.

He turned around, and you saw him face for the first time since beginning. You could’ve kissed him. There was slick on his lips, smeared all the way to his cheek. It dripped, dribbling to his chin. He looked to you, hoping that it was satisfactory. It was _very_ satisfactory, you hoped your labored breathing could tell him. He seemed content, wiping away the mess from his face with a grin. How you could’ve ever been mad at that face was beyond you.

“Jon, I,” you breathed, eyelids heavy. You didn’t need to say anymore, you knew. Jon looked at you with as much desire as you were held for him. He pushed you back down on your shoulders, pinning you to the bed almost painfully. You rose your arms and gripped his shoulders, watching his face as he positioned himself. You waited for the familiar feeling of intrusion, feeling your body buzz with anticipation. You squirmed under him, stilling when you felt the prod against you. Your fingers tightened, your nails digging into his skin as he went deeper.

Jon looked down on you, his eyes much too intense for you to look away. Your mouth gaped and your chest rose, and Jon drank in the look on your face greedily. You let him watch you grit your teeth as you felt him push you open. You refused to do anything but take it all, so you made yourself relax as much as possible. It went slowly, until it suddenly didn’t, ripping through you and hitting your prostate.

You gasped, choking, eyes watering.

Through your swimming vision you saw Jon look down at you with concern.

“Are you okay—“

“Oh, Jon, _move_ ,” you whined. You wrapped your legs around his waist, hooking your foot on the other. Jon checked to ensure you truly weren’t hurt, but the wanton expression told him all he needed to know. He made sure his hold on you was tight, before he continued his mission. He withdrew, a deceitfully innocent move. Then he returned, penetrating you with his entirety. Then he repeated the action, panging into you gratifyingly each time. You groaned, moaned, and gasped each time he jerked into you, eyes rolling and head turning.

You wanted to tell him how good it felt, but you failed to form coherent sentences. “I—yes, _yes_ —no, _wait_ —!” were a few of the intellectual gems that left your lips. Jon seemed to be able to translate, however. He grinned down at you, curls falling in his face. The sight sent a wave of arousal straight downward. He seemed to know exactly which buttons of yours to push without even trying. Hands on your waist, hair loose, a cocky look on his face. You inwardly groaned—he was too good.

When he leant down to kiss you, your hands left his shoulders to his shoulder blades, gripping his back for dear life. You tried not to claw into his skin out of consideration. He moaned, the noise making you shiver. Despite the slow, heated passion of the kiss, his pace didn’t falter from its rapid speed. You both heaved air into your lungs once the kiss was done, lips wet. He seemed tireless. You didn’t know about him, but you weren’t going to last much longer, you knew.

And indeed, finishing you off was quick work for him. A wire was being coiled in your gut, hot and tight. After well-placed thrusts from Jon, his fingers running all across you, tweaking and pinching and stroking, the wire bounded forth under the pressure. You climaxed with eyes closed. Your arched your back off the bed, muscles pulled taut. Your cock twitched, spilling ropes of pearl white all over your abdomen, Jon’s abdomen, his pelvis, anywhere it could reach. But whereas you were done, Jon was not.

He pecked you on the cheek cutely once he had seen you come. A satisfied chuckle reverberated in your ears, your cheek tickled by his hair. You whimpered, grasping at his hands.

From the furrow of his brows, you could now see Jon was not far behind. Impossibly, he picked up the speed. You didn’t bother trying to ride along with him—your body was trying to recuperate, slack and at his will. It felt like the life was being fucked out of you, your mouth ajar and eyes barely open. Still, you were more than happy to let yourself be used if it meant Jon would reach his peak.

He did, body shuddering like it was being possessed by a storm. Relief hit him like a wave, and he released in you his hot seed. He panted terribly, still as he filled you. You sighed, pleased. There was no better feeling.

Jon could barely hold himself up, but he stopped himself from completely crushing you.

There was only breathing as Jon lowered himself onto the bed, in the spot beside you. He had one ass on your ass. You felt yourself leak of him, he slipped some back in with a playful finger. You eyes were close, but knowing he was looking at you, you turned to him.

“Jon,” you whispered, too tired to speak loudly. A lazy grin made its way onto your face. “You were good,” you breathed, hand moving to his chest to trace circles, as you so often did.

Jon looked to you, intent in his gaze as if trying to memorize all your features. You wondered what he was thinking about, looking so thoughtful.

“You’re strong to me.” You warmed, cheeks reddening. You closed your eyes again. “I’m sorry… I made you feel you weren’t,” he said to you, and you felt a hand on your cheek. The words were calming.

You lifted your body, pulling the covers over you. Jon did the same and you brought the sheets over his body as well. You shifted closer to him, burying your head in his chest.

“I love you,” you whispered. His arms wrapped around you, bringing you impossibly closer and whispering to you.

“I love you” echoed into the shell of your ear, and lulled you to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> just some smut and resolving fluff next... leave kudos ~ or comments ~


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